


Nor Cowardly In Retire

by Crowgirl



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Pleased with yourself?’<br/>‘Rather, yes.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nor Cowardly In Retire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Catchclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/gifts).



Q makes a last pass with the ribbon and sits back on his heels, admiring his work.

‘Pleased with yourself?’ Bond inquires and Q spares a moment to think that James’ voice is entirely too steady. He’s going to have to work on that.

‘Rather, yes.’ Q reaches out and runs a finger along the crease of Bond’s naked thigh then gives in to his impulse and leans in to kiss the tip of James’ cock. ‘A pretty piece of work, I think.’ 

Actually, he thinks it’s fucking _spectacular._ James, naked, is a beautiful thing by anyone’s standards; the addition of the blood-red silk ribbon wrapped in careful rounds down the length of his cock may be only to Q’s personal taste but, since he’s the only other one here, he’s the only one who counts. ‘The color suits you.’

James is very slightly breathless. ‘Delighted you appreciate the choice. I did -- _Christ_ \-- take some time over it.’

The expletive, Q thinks, probably comes from him thumbing over the tip of Bond’s cock as he speaks, slicking back the foreskin and letting moisture leak freely down onto the wraps of red ribbon, darkening the color to something like crimson. He eases back the turn of ribbon nearest the head, smoothing his hand down to the double wrap closest to James’ balls. He presses his palm to the flat of muscle immediately below his navel and can feel the flutter under his hand. ‘Eager much?’

James snorts. ‘You’re the one who put me in this ridiculous position--’ He jerks a shoulder to indicate the semi-military stance Q had arranged him in with his hands behind his back. Simply _telling_ Bond to keep his hands to himself never has the desired effect. ‘Give me my hands back and we’ll see who’s eager.’

‘No, no…’ Q braces his hands on James’ hips and leans forward. He pauses for a moment, eyes half-closed, lets himself drown in the thick, dark smell rising from James’ skin, from his own, from the warm sheets under his knees, from the wet red ribbon. He rocks his forehead against the rough trail of hair that begins just below James’ navel, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat scentmarking -- or, he supposes, being scentmarked. His own prick, hard enough to be distracting, bobs against his thigh and he gives it a quick squeeze.

‘Oh, Christ…’ 

Q glances up and realises James has been watching him, chin tilted down almost against his collarbone. His shoulders are tight and Q guesses he’s clenching his own knuckles white where Q put them behind his back. He leans back a little, spreading his knees, and lets James watch him fuck his fist for a few strokes, just long enough to bring out a prickle of sweat across his shoulders and under his arms. 

‘You’re really quite unbearable at times, you know that.’ 

Q smiles up at him. ‘Yes, but you love me.’ He scoots himself back on his knees, rumpling the sheet, and pulls James forward with a tug on the backs of his thighs, adjusting him until his shins are against the edge of the bed. ‘And since you bought me such a lovely present--’ 

And he is intending to enjoy the original source of the red ribbon, the box of _petit fours_ James bought him -- later.

‘Yes, and isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?’ James interrupts. ‘I’m the one retiring after all.’

‘You had a whole party to yourself this afternoon.’ Q taps a finger against James’ hipbone. ‘Don’t be greedy.’

‘Oh, yes, marvellous, _just_ my idea of a good time,’ James grumbles.

‘Well, then, shut up like a good lad and we’ll see if we can’t find you something you like a bit better.’ Without waiting for James to say anything, Q leans forward and sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth. 

The immediate flavor is the harsh chemical tang of the ribbon -- not a very pleasant taste, if he’s being honest. As he teases the tip of his tongue around the slick skin, though, the taste of dye is overwhelmed by the taste of James and _that_ he loves, so he closes his eyes and hums his pleasure. James groans somewhere above him and Q feels his thigh muscles jerk under his hands at the same moment as a pulse of bitter warmth hits the back of his tongue. He gives one last, firm sucking kiss and pulls off, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘C’mon, then. Can’t have the great James Bond falling down on the job…’ 

He catches the ends of the ribbon from where they’re hanging against Bond’s thighs and tugs. James blinks his eyes open and looks down, shaking his head slightly. ‘What?’

Q pats the mattress and winds the ribbon ends around his fingers, working his way back up to James’ cock. ‘We’ve got this lovely bed just here.’

‘Can I move my hands now?’

‘You don’t have to lie on them if that’s what you mean.’ Q tugs gently on the ribbon, watching James’ eyes turn a shade darker as he does so. He half-expects James to tackle him or, at the very least, to make a damn good try at taking the initiative out of his hands -- instead, Bond keeps his hands just where they are, held together at the small of his back, and kneels up onto the bed, looking at Q as if waiting for direction. 

This isn’t what he had in mind, either: he doesn't want James _obedient_ \-- amusing as that can be under the right circumstances -- just...temporarily compliant. ‘You’re starting to make me anxious. You did keep track of your glass at the party, didn’t you?’

James snorts. ‘Yes, I’m sure someone in the Ministry tried to drug me and I didn’t notice.’

‘Well.’ Q shakes his hair back out of his eyes. ‘I told you to have an eye to that permanent undersecretary.’

‘And tonight you met her husband.’

‘Like that’s ever stopped anyone.’ 

James stretches out on the mattress, knocking a pillow into place with his shoulder and settling back. ‘And she met mine. So.’ 

Q straddles James’ hips and leans forward, planting a hand on either side of his ribcage. ‘She couldn’t have _known_ that since you don’t wear your ring.’ 

‘Ah.’ James wriggles for a minute, then flourishes his left hand in front of Q’s face so he can see the gleam of metal on his third finger. ‘Wrong.’ 

‘Well, Mr. Bond.’ Q catches his hand, inspects the ring with theatrical care. ‘And here I thought you were allergic to the thing.’

‘More fool you, then,’ James says and tugs Q down to kiss him. 

‘This isn’t...quite…what I had in mind,’ Q gets out in the brief moments between exploring James’ lower lip, long a favorite spot of his, and James leaving a bright suck-mark over Q’s left carotid. 

‘Isn’t it?’ Bond shifts his weight, plants his feet, and rolls his hips up against Q’s, the combined rasp of silk and skin enough to make Q press himself down before he thinks. He drops his forehead against James’ shoulder and lets himself press down for a moment against the length of James' body the way he wants to, well-known skin against skin from knee to shoulder. It’s gorgeous, blissful, and he could get them both off like this, but---

‘No, not...quite…’ Q leaves Bond’s mouth with a last swipe of his tongue and arches back, bracing himself on Bond’s knees and reaching down between his own thighs to flick the ends of the ribbon loose. The silk is wet and warm against his fingers, a little sticky where James has been leaking steadily. He gasps softly as Q unwraps the last two or three rounds and Q feels a little gush of warmth over his fingers. He balls up the ribbon and tosses it over the side of the bed. ‘You didn’t think I was going to leave you like that?’

There’s a high flush over James’ cheekbones as he shakes his head. ‘I didn’t think it was likely.’

‘Wouldn’t be much of a present, would it?’ Q reaches behind himself and shoves at James’ knees until he obligingly lets his legs go out straight and Q can slide slightly back.

‘What _are_ you up to down there?’ James cranes his head up from the pillow.

‘This.’ Q stretches forward, leaning down on one elbow next to Bond’s shoulder, and slides his thigh between James’ legs, pulling them together at the hip. He pushes his free hand between their bodies and cups their cocks together. The rush of sensation leaves him a bit breathless and his next words don’t come out as saucy as he had hoped: ‘Or...or you can fuck me if you like. I...prepared for that, too.’

‘Always prepared,’ James groans, curling forward, his hands sliding to the small of Q’s back and pulling him in tight. 

‘Always,’ Q agrees, although he’s no longer quite sure what he’s agreeing _to._

James makes a motion as if to say something further and Q squeezes their cocks together at the root, pulling a gasp out of both of them and making James press in against him, burying his face against Q’s shoulder. ‘...God, _fuck…’_

Q laughs, a little shakily, and trails a line of kisses down the back of James’ neck. ‘You were saying?’

‘I was _saying…'_ James says, voice rough and cracking at the edges. ‘...that you aren’t the _only_ one who can prepare.’ He takes another breath but it all goes out of him in a groan when Q rolls his hips up, sliding his prick against James’ in a glorious, slick, sticky slide. Instead, he catches Q’s free hand, cocks his knee to the side, and urges Q’s fingers back between his thighs until Q feels the unmistakeable warmth of worked-open muscle and lube.

‘Jesus _Christ---’_ Q isn’t proud of the fact that James can still short-circuit his brain like this -- nor is he entirely _un-_ proud of it. Without stopping to ponder the subtleties, he pulls his other hand free, leaving their pricks to rub and slide together between the rhythm of their hips, and grabs for the back of James’ neck, tugging him into a kiss that lasts until one of them -- he isn’t sure which -- starts to come and the other tumbles after.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from _Coriolanus_ , courtesy of bartleby.com.


End file.
